Future blog
by I'm Nova
Summary: AU. Sherlock/Mirai Nikki-Future Diary mix. After Afghanistan, John has to face the end of the world. And an highlander-style game for a God's position he did not even want. Easy right? ;-) Johniarty, Johnlock, Mormor, whatever else I can think of. Two genres are too few: there will be mistery, romance, friendship, adventure...anything but poetry, I suspect! :-)
1. Prologue

_A.N. The kindred soul am1thirteen acquainted me with the beautiful Mirai Nikki manga, and suggested playing with its plot. I eagerly agreed. She agreed to beta this for me, so if I don't go off the deep end in any way credit goes to her. Of course, any lasting error/ flaw is mine. _

_Disclaimer: Mirai Nikki/Future Diary's storyline belongs to Sakae Esuno sensei, Dr. John Watson and the rest of the cast to Arthur Conan Doyle and/or to the BBC. I just mess with both. _

Prologue

Nobody is really an atheist in war. Everyone needs some sort of God to pray to, whoever He/She may be. John Watson is special though, because said gods do not usually entertain their believers when they dream (or daydream, for the matter). Neither do they send little witty imp-like helpers to point out useful things like 'is that light bouncing off a rifle, what do you think, Johnny?'.

John keeps silent about all that. He's mad, madder than a hatter in truth, he knows. He has to be. As long as Mormor (that's the imp's name, and yes, it's ridiculous – but the thing would hold the grudge of the century if he remarked on that) helps him stay alive, who cares which form his brain chooses to inform the larger, supposedly rational part of him that danger is _right there_? Honestly, John would commit himself into the nearest asylum if whenever, wherever his hallucinations interfered with his work as an army surgeon. His brothers in arms deserve nothing but the best. But he gives them the best. He _is _the best. Anytime he has to disinfect, stitch, remove bullets, or generally heal, the mirages leave him alone...and he has many, many grateful friends he has saved. Asylum has never looked less appealing.

His dreams of Dyaus, God of Space and Time and Causality (sometimes John jokes he must be a Time Lord, but he has seen no Tardis yet), began when he was deployed to the front line. As a medic, John had seen worse ways to cope with the stress. Humongous masked human-shaped God saying you were interesting and he was feeling _playful_? Not so bad.

Which is why, when he does get shot, John feels unreasonably _betrayed _(yes, he's mad, but that's already established). They have not played yet, not anything remotely engaging, and where the _fuck_ is Mormor when John needs help, and he can't die now. Dyaus won't let him die...will he? _Please God, let me live._

P.S. Mirai Nikki had Deus (ex machina). Deus/Iuppiter (Iove pater contracted) in Latin, Zeus patèr/Theos in ancient Greek come from the same Indoeuropean radical (*Dyeus) that generated in the Indian Veda Dyaus Pita. Since John met him in Afghanistan I went for the Dyaus spelling.


	2. The beige bedsit of doom

_Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me still._

Chapter 1: The beige bedsit of doom

"Come on now, Johnny. Don't sulk!" the imp exhorted, popping out of the blue in John's London dwelling.

_'Oh great. He comes around__ now__'_ John thought. Might as well vent out.

"Don't sulk? Don't_ sulk_? Christ, look around. I had a life back there. Now I have a beige bedsit. Beige coverlet, beige curtains, beige walls, beige carpet. Even this_ place_ knows my life is shit!" he yelled, glaring.

"You want to complain? Bring it up to Dyaus. He's the boss," Mormor replied, clearly annoyed.

_He would._

And just like that, John somehow found himself before his own private god, in an over-dimensioned not-quite-temple. Pillars abounded, anyway.

"So, how does civilian life agree with you, Johnny?" Dyaus inquired conversationally.

"Not much of a god if you don't know it doesn't," John growled.

"Well, we'll have to make our own entertainment then, won't we?" the god answered, his smirk evident even behind the mask. "By the way...why didn't you bring us up to your shrink?" he added.

"I don't have that many social relations here, if you haven't noticed. Not eager to lose your company too, even if it's not top quality. And_ I_ wouldn't need to be entertained if you and your miniature follower didn't fail me when I needed you," John sharply replied.

"Relax a bit, boy. Being so bitter can't be good for your health. We're about to get to bigger and better things, Johnny, I promise. We didn't fail – we just allowed you to be removed from that entirely too out of the way environment." the deity revealed. Much too nonchalant for the other party's liking.

"You deserted me on_ purpose_?" the doctor ground out, outraged.

"You'll like it here. Just wait and see. Are you going to write that blog like Ella suggested?" Dyaus asked airily.

"I'll have to, won't I?" John said, tiredly. It was useless to keep arguing with his hallucination, after all.

"And what do you plan to write?" the god wondered, curious.

_Dyaus wasn't so trite before. Civilian life was detrimental to his mirages too._

"I honestly have no idea. Since my life is empty now, thanks to _someone_, I guess I'll have to tell about people I meet, scenes I come across...something must be happening somewhere. It's London, after all," he surmised.

And then Dyaus went and shifted his mood. A perfect one hundred and eighty. Oh well, he did that sometimes.

"You know Johnny, you've been awfully_ rude_ tonight. It hurts my_ feelings._ I understand why, of course. You don't believe in me anymore. Well, I'll just have to prove myself, won't I? You will properly apologize after, won't you, Johnny? I'd _hate_ to have to reconsider the list of my favourites," he complained and whined and threatened all in the same breath. John had never known anyone in real life who could pull it off.

"I'd like to see you try," he replied cheekily. Goading your own hallucinations on was highly entertaining at least (if decidedly not healthy).

"That phone of yours has got internet connection, yes? That's what I'll do. There will be a website you will only be able to access from there: your blog. I will just write it for you... a bit in advance. It will let you know the future. Which may be useful, or amusing, or annoying, I guess... but it will definitely prove that I'm not a figment of your imagination," the god announced.

"Yeah, well, sure. Please do," John agreed. Wasn't his brain coming up with the most ridiculous fantasies right now?

"Do take care of the phone, John. You've seen enough Dr. Who to not be sloppy with things that are not totally working on your same timeline, didn't you?" Dyaus recommended as a parting shot.

_As if he would be heedless of it anyway. The phone was the latest model, and as good as new. He wasn't going to wreck it, of all his worldly possessions._

_P.S. I claim this chapter's title. Please mention me if you use the sentence. I hope it rolls on your tongue as smoothly as it does on mine. _


	3. Memorable meetings

_Disclaimer: not mine. Obviously. ;-)_

Chapter 2: Memorable meetings

John received a text from an unknown number the next day, as soon as he woke up. It contained a link... which sent him to his blog. He fought the sudden panic that washed over him. Ok, his mental condition was clearly deteriorating fast. He must have written the post down sometime last night and erased the memory of it. But how had he managed to have this text sent now? Because the alternative...it was simply impossible. Wasn't it? Oh well...he'd worry over that in the future. Like the next appointment with Ella. Now he needed to get into gear, start searching for work – his army pension was enough for nothing – and prove this entry was the byproduct of his addled mind, not...the future.

Only that it was. When John met Mike Stamford – on the park bench where he was _supposed_ to be, according to his blog – he managed not to look too startled. Surprised, yes, but hey, he'd just casually met an old mate. He was curt about Afghanistan, but honestly, it did no one any good lingering over what happened there. He brought up his lack of income, instead. After all, the blog – which he'd only skimmed – said Mike would help him with could be his litmus test.

Mike seemed eager to help. "Why don't you apply at Bart's? Sarah, the boss, is a good woman, I'm sure she'll find you something...and I work there too, so when I say she's amenable to any reasonable request – most of the time – I'm speaking from experience," he proposed.

John agreed. And here he was, following Stamford to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, half hopeful and half dreading what might happen (because if things went right, what did it_ entail_?). And then he met dr. Sawyer (_Sarah_). Mike added his praises to John's brilliant cv, which was nice of him. Sarah concluded: "Of course, good doctors are always welcome. You can start with a bit of locum work. With its flexible hours, you can take your time to settle down. Think of it as a probation session. As soon as a vacancy opens up, I'll see what I can do".

He was properly grateful, and refrained from saying what was in his mind. _'I don't need time to settle down. I need to keep busy. For my sanity's sake.' _

His stroll, not-unexpected meeting and subsequent job interview at Bart's had covered the whole morning. Afterwards Mike suggested stopping by the hospital's cafeteria. Well, why not?

John was even happier when a pretty girl with a ponytail waved them over.

"Molly, our pathologist; the one you'll like to be around, your patients not so much," Stamford said by way of introduction.

"Please tell me you lead the campaign for this hospital's Body Donation Program. Because you definitely should. I bet your presence alone can convince a lot of people to donate their body to science," John pleaded. She blushed, very prettily too; pity her fiancé joined them right then.

'Jim from IT', with the musical Irish lilt and the very considerate attitude toward Molly, was an alright bloke, John decided. A job, (old and) new friends...his life looked decidedly less bleak. The napkin with the phone number which magically popped out next to his plate was just the icing on the cake. He pocketed it quietly and sent the cute waitress a big smile.

When he called the number, that same evening, and heard the answering voice, his first thought was _no more skimming the blog!_

"Jim?" John asked anyway.

"Yes, Johnny," Jim...purred? No, wait, the line must be disturbed.

"Why did you slip me your number?" John inquired deliberately.

"Because I wanted you to call me, don't be an idiot, John!" Jim reproached, entirely too harshly.

"What for?" John was just hoping he had misinterpreted it all.

"Do not make me say the obvious,Johnny. It's so _tedious_!" Jim quipped.

"No wait...you're engaged!"

"Didn't think it was a problem..." Jim sighed. "Let me explain in person, please."

The sharp rapping at his door (and _how _was Jim inside his condo, to begin with?) did not startle John. It did not. He squared his shoulders and opened the damn door.

Jim kind of glided around him and inside the room. Completely at ease there. "Look, it's simple. We're not engaged. The whole thing is a ruse. Molly is after this jerk – gorgeous, I'll give you that – and asked my help to make him jealous. Honestly, he's more likely to get jealous _of_ her than _about_ her, but I haven't the heart to break it out to her."

"Oh," the doctor uttered quietly. At least Jim wasn't some sort of cheating bastard. It was nice to know. _Wait, John Hamish Watson! Get your priorities straight!_ "Jim...how did you find me? I'm sure I've not told you my address."

"I might have stalked you. A tiny bit," he confessed boldly. Smiling even.

_Stalked and I didn't notice? Fuck!_

"Ok...I should probably have started with this, but...sorry Jim, I'm. Not. Gay," John replied. He_ had_ been saying things backwards.

"Oh, Johnny...I know," Jim quipped back, grinning.

"You do?" John shouted.

"You were flirting with Molly when I came in. It doesn't take a genius!" Jim hissed back, dramatically rolling his eyes. "You said nothing about being bi, though," he added with a positively wicked smirk.

"Don't bloody nitpick about my words!" John growled. "Look, Jim, I'll say it clear and simple for you, ok? I. Am. Not. Interested. Go stalk someone else."

Jim's face crumbled. There was no other way to describe it. John didn't even try to resist the urge to apologize: "...Sorry about the last bit. It was rude, but...".

And then Jim was grinning (did the man come with a fucking _switch_?) and said: "It's ok, Johnny. I love being able to get a rise out of you. And I do love a challenge!". Then he swaggered out of the room.

(And John wasn't gaping. He wasn't.)


	4. On the usefulness of labs

_Disclaimer: I'm Italian, not Japanese nor English. So how could I own Mirai Nikki or Sherlock?_

Chapter 3: On the usefulness of labs

John had promised himself not to skim the blog over anymore. But going to his blog the day after (and wasn't it a bit odd that Dyaus hadn't been around last night?) and finding its last words were DEAD END in huge capitals was kind of distracting.

Reading that the serial killer he'd heard from the news, the strangler called Golem because his hands' imprints made him look like some kind of giant (if he wasn't completely disproportionate) would make John his next victim was...unsettling. But John was a soldier, and now he had intel on his foe.

Of course, first instinct had been avoidance...but the blog said Golem tailed him after work for a little while, before making his move, and what would happen if John wasn't there? If Golem hunted around the hospital, without John he could choose to prey on Mike, or Molly, or...anyone, really. At least John had been trained to fight. If only he had not given his gun back, leaving Afghanistan!

To get a new firearm now he needed a certificate, one that would require more time than he had. And he couldn't explain why he needed it in haste, for the same reason he couldn't tip the police about the killer presence. His source of information, his justification, was simply unbelievable. Oh, well. He could grab a scalpel at work, he supposed. He was going to prove the blog wrong...or he was at least making damn sure Golem wouldn't be fit enough to hunt again for a good while.

The day passed in a blur, or at least that was his impression. When his personal stalker – in a stolen lab coat – accosted John when he made his way to the exit, the doctor barked: "Not today, Jim. Really. Find some other company".

"I know what I'm doing, Johnny. Come just a second," he replied, manoeuvring John in a supply closet before the latter asked himself how he'd been persuaded. A ping from John's phone went utterly ignored.

"Look," Jim ordered, whipping out his own phone and showing...a blog. A stalker's blog, if you wanted to call it that, full of updates about John, what he was doing and with whom and whatever else you could want to know.A glaring DEAD END could be seen as the last entry of the blog.

"I know what I'm getting into, _doctor_ Watson. And I'm not sending you out there without backup!" Jim declared.

Which still should not make dragging a...computer expert...into this the right thing to do, but the words were so _achingly _familiar (how many times did his Major say exactly that?) John had all but marched out of the room, Jim falling into easy step beside him.

Jim even managed to fake conversation, when they were out of the hospital. "I've been down to Molly's place. She let me play around in the lab. Honestly can't see why you didn't pop in for a minute."

"Yeah, well...I have been busy." John's eyes were scanning the crowd, because a fucking giant should be easy to spot. And there he was...John tensed up upon seeing the killer behind him, but first priority was drawing him away from other people. If he had to face this man, better sooner than later. He was going to duck in an alley, when Jim pulled on his arm. Hard.

"What are you doing?" John hissed.

"Changing the future," Jim whispered back, leading them to a different alley. Sure enough, a text notified them Jim's blog had been updated. _Modified_. "Well, not enough," he noted, with a grimace at the DEAD END still very much there. But at least it told him that the blog was not set in stone. It was comforting. Actually, Jim's disrupting influence might be exactly what John needed.

Golem was still following them, leisurely, like an overgrown cat who had just found two amusing mice.

John let Jim lead the way, and when his new friend – after turning a sharp angle – sprinted in a mad run and entered a rundown building, he followed easily. A text to John's phone informed them losing the killer wouldn't be quite so easy. Oh well. Going back into the open would surely not help, so they raced through the edifice, trying to find a spot that would offer a tactic advantage. No hiding place they passed guaranteed a successful sneak attack though, according to their blogs. And Golem had reached the entrance, heavy footfalls now quicker in pursuit. Games were off.

"The roof!" Jim whispered, sounding more enthusiastic than scared. John wanted to object, because they would have nowhere else to go, no cover...but he'd never been good at resisting Jim. John would have protested at Jim leading them way too close to the edge, but the man said: "I've got a plan!", which was more than John could claim at the moment, running as he was on adrenaline and battle-honed instinct. Jim hurriedly explained his idea, risky and crazy and perhaps feasible.

Then Golem appeared...eyes fixed on his phone, before looking at them with predatory eyes and a smirk filled with entirely too much teeth.

"Plan B!" Jim exclaimed gaily.

_What plan B?_

The clearly hand-built bomb appeared in John's hands (did Jim keep it in his bloody _pocket_?) and he threw it to the (other) madman out of sheer reflex. His aim was true as ever, and bits of Golem should have littered the roof (and perhaps the underlying road). Instead, a black hole appeared and swallowed the body (parts) up. As if the day hadn't been weird enough.

"Well, that was...convenient," John remarked, while texts came to notify them of the averted dead end. Bit late, that.

"Convenient?" Jim echoed amusedly.

"No need to explain the dead body, not to mention the bomb. Might be difficult to convince the police it was purely self-defence and we just happened to have one handy," he replied. The mental image was so ridiculous he chuckled softly.

Then realization caught up. "This was you 'playing in the lab', wasn't it? God Jim, you could have blown _Molly_ up. You could have blown _us_ up, actually I have no idea why that didn't happen," the doctor berated.

"Of course it was, and I didn't, did I?" Jim bit back sharply. "It would never happen in the lab, I'm no _idiot_ John. Outside...well, accidents happen, but you were going to die anyway. Might as well occur because of me. Following someone else's script is so _unbearable_."

John had no idea what to feel anymore. He'd been grateful (and perhaps a tiny bit of affection had tried to sneak on its wake), but this was decidedly worrying. And scary. And if he told anyone he was scared of _Jim_, they'd laugh at him, but they hadn't seen this.

Jim waved away the whole discussion, and added thoughtfully: "At least we know how we'll go."

"Sorry, what?"

"He must have had a future blog too, Johnny. It explains why hiding places were useless, and why he checked his phone then. He must have been updated about the plan I had told you. Hence, at the very least we don't need to worry about funeral expenses. We won't have one," Jim explained, looking like it was a chore to do so.

"Oh. It makes sense. Not that I did, you know – worry about that. More about _living _expenses. And...thank you, I guess. I would not have anything at all to worry about without you," John replied. However he did feel, Jim deserved the thanks.

John's daily quota of weird hadn't been met yet, however.

They had just left the building, when Jim's lips pursed in annoyance. A dark-haired man with a long coat was beelining for them. "Molly's crush," Jim informed him in a whisper.

"Have you seen a seven foot tall, Caucasian male, of middle European origin, no companions?" the man asked all in a breath.

"Why?" John croaked out.

"He's the Golem. He doesn't hunt randomly, he has a pattern for both timing and areas, I've worked it out. He must be around here now, he _must _be. I know," he stated, giving John what felt like a dissecting look.

John's thought is _hope the bloke has a gun, 'cause otherwise he's suicidal to seek the killer out, and having a suicidal crush must be a pain._

"Well we haven't. Otherwise we wouldn't be alive, right? Nothing and no-one around to stop him from killing, and he's already taken more than a victim in one go," Jim answered acidly.

That was enough to send him off. Like a bullet.

"You didn't tell me Molly's crush was a policeman," John remarked.

"Oh, he isn't. He _plays_ detective. Why the police indulge him and feeds him a few cases' details, according to Molly, I don't know," Jim revealed.

"I don't think he plays much. He was here, wasn't he? And he said he worked it out," the doctor automatically defended.

"Do I have to finally get jealous of him, Johnny?" Jim replied, a sudden dark aura around him.

"Don't be an _idiot_, Jim!" John quipped. "I. Am. Not. Gay. Remember?" he sighed.


	5. The rules of the game

_Disclaimer: nothing mine, obviously. _

Chapter 4: The rules of the game

One would have thought the day had been eventful enough. Dyaus clearly did not concur. The moment John's eyes closed, Mormor was there.

"Your mind wasn't quiet enough for me to get your attention at all until now! You'll be late, John!" he reproached.

"Sorry, what?"

"We're going to have a big meeting, you don't want to miss the rules, do you? How will you play otherwise?" the imp enquired, all the while tugging on John's arm.

John was swiftly dragged in front of his God. Unlike the usual pattern, John was lead in a corridor and ordered to stand inside an exedra, a heavy curtain hiding him. He could still make out his God's outline, sitting on a throne, but nothing more.

"All of the players are finally here" Dyaus' voice boomed "well, not exactly, but that's only because someone got overeager and started the game before the referee said so." The god sounded mildly amused.

"You all know me. I'm the god of space, time and causality. Despite of whatever delusions you may have entertained, I'm not eternal. Mine is hard work, and I'm out of energy. Sadly, I can't just retire. Does someone know what causality unravelling would entail?" he asked, reminding John very much of his physics teacher.

One hesitant voice answered: "The end of the world...".

"Exactly," Dyaus agreed. "Now, as I said, I can't really go on. A month is the most my powers will hold on. So, it's either let the world end or find an heir. You're interesting people, and have been chosen in the first headhunt as eligible. To spice the situation up a bit, the actual next God's selection will take the term headhunt much more literally."

"What?" someone screeched.

_'It's the end of the world. Just the end of the world. And I've been chosen to become a possible God. I never sent any applications for that!' _went through John's mind on a loop.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Dyaus lashed out "you won't last long if you can't even understand this. I'll make it simple: there are currently eleven of you. Everyone has been granted one future blog, suitable to his disposition. To become God, you have to get rid of the competition. Or destroy the phone from which they access their blog."

_That probably amounts to the same thing, _John assumed.

"Which is why you're currently visually impaired. If you knew who constitutes the competition, we'd lose all finesse and the game would be infinitely boring, not to mention short. Now, to make it fair, the moment you become the target of another player, you will receive a warning. Your blog will read DEAD END. If it disappears, you're safe again..._for the moment_" the God stated, entirely too pleased with himself.

"How are we supposed to find the other participants?" a male voice asked.

"Use your brain, if you have one" Dyaus bit back. "Your blog too, of course...but anything is fair game, really. Be _entertaining_, will you? If you win, you'll appreciate the need for some amusement. And we're already one player short."

"Will we know about the game's progress? How many people are still out there?" This time, it was a voice smooth as silk.

"If I'm in the mood for it, I might update you. Call for another meeting perhaps. But don't count on it. No getting the others to do your work and coming out of hiding when we're down to one person only, miss. That would be too easy," the god scolded.

"Who will be the hardest one to take down, in your opinion?" Definitely a male, rumbling like a big cat, and not as in an overfed, domestic one.

"Finally someone who _wants_ to play! My bet? Number one, of course. There's a reason I've assigned him that number...and after all, he took down number three and averted his own dead end before he even knew about this game," Dyaus stated. Even beyond the curtain and the mask, it was evident he was beaming.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you couldn't point someone else out as target to the overeager predator in the next corner, could you, Dyaus? _John seethed internally. _Then again, if he has assigned the numbers according to how likely we are to survive, and I've already taken down three...Oh well, __**I**__ have is not quite exact, is it? Who knows which number is Jim? It would be interesting to know. Wait wait, does this mean I'm meant to kill Jim too, along the way? Unless I get killed first, of course. He may be a stalker, but that's a bit harsh of a punishment, isn't it? He helped me, after all. Saved my bloody life. Oh fuck, he __**knows**__ I have a blog. Stalker or not stalker, Jim will probably kill me first thing tomorrow, or at least try to. The man has no compunction fabricating bloody bombs. Let's just hope he has the common sense to resolve this thing between us in some quiet place. It's in his interest too not to involve anyone else or cause collateral damage, right? I mean, we don't leave evidence behind apparently, but if he goes for the same method and hurts someone there will be questions. Then again, he probably won't go for the same modus operandi. He's a computer geek, after all, and that means he must be quite clever, right? Oh god. I'm working myself into a panic attack, aren't I?_

John was pulled out of sleep, Dyaus' meeting and his own thoughts by the loud beep of an incoming text. He read: 'Lets team up. I won't allow you to be killed by anyone else, I swear, and we can win. We already did once. We will be the last ones standing, and then discuss our choices. Sweet dreams – JM'.

He replied his compliance, because everything Jim said was true, and however disturbing 'killed _by anyone else_' looked (did it mean Jim _would_ kill him in the end?), having an ally in this madness, even a temporary one, wasn't something to casually turn down.

Meanwhile, at Dyaus' lair...

The god had dismissed the other players quickly (because, really, what else was there to say?) and now he gazed severely at his servant.

"Remind me again why I allowed you to select a few of the participants, among all of my followers."

"Because you like to be surprised, as impossible as it is," the imp answered.

"I can't say I'm satisfied with what I saw. What's the point with number seven? Did you hear what the man asked?" Dyaus wondered, mildly disgusted.

"Any good story needs a bit of comic relief. I can't say I'll bet a false dime on that number myself. But you liked number nine," Mormor stated nonchalantly.

"More like he liked me – or the game. Which is indeed refreshing," the god admitted. "That one is a decent choice."

"Ah, but he's not the one I bet on. At least for the God position," the imp replied.

"And who would that be?" Dyaus asked, curious.

"Eleven. It wouldn't be that big of a change for him, and I have given him quite the trump card," Mormor revealed.

"I'm letting you run too many things now that I tire easily. I'm going to be very not pleased if he cheats his way to win, " the god grumbled.

"Nothing outside the rules, I promise. Not that you set many of those," Mormor quipped back.

"Well, hard to be surprised when their hands are severely tied. Anyway, _what_ do you bet on nine for?" Dyaus wondered.

"To replace your favourite. I've tried to consider your preferences choosing him. Honestly, number one just feels so _ordinary_ to me. I can't fathom why you're fixated on him. Do take a look at what the other players do, before deciding who you root for, will you?" the imp admitted.

"Why should I change my decision? If you can't see number one's charm I can only pity your blindness," Dyaus said.

"Because seeing you with your doctor I'm wondering why don't you go by Master instead of God. Anyway, I am not saying you _have to_ forsake him. Just keep an open mind for a bit. But if you don't want to...your loss. Or gain. Or whatever. Be happy," Mormor retorted.

"Oh, but I _plan _to be."


	6. John's first time (being deduced)

_Disclaimer: When I do buy the rights to Sherlock or Mirai Nikki I'll let you know, ok? Still didn't._

_A.N. Ok, I know, I twisted and turned and upended this until the thing is barely recognizable and perhaps OOC (not sure about it). I'd apologize, but that's the point of an AU, isn't it? _

Chapter 5: John's first time (being deduced)

The following day passed surprisingly quietly. Or not so surprisingly: the only one who knew John had a future blog was in league with him, after all. For now. Having just been made a target, John was still thrumming with hyper-awareness, no matter how reassuring his blog was.

He had half a good reason anyway not to relax: the evening would bring one annoying visitor. At least having expected him coming (thanks to the blog, obviously) meant John had tea ready. Hearing the bell, John decided he needed to talk to his fellow residents about having the condo's door open at all times (how did everyone pop up right in front of his door otherwise?). It wasn't safe (and they couldn't know how much). He greeted the man with a guarded smile. How would Molly's crush act? The blog only gave sparse details, and those were enough to keep him on edge.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man answered, _very _quickly flashing a police ID.

"Jim said you weren't police," he remarked, surprised.

"I collaborate with them," Sherlock replied sharply.

'_This still doesn't make you a policeman, so why __do__ you have that?_' John thought.

"Jim?" the man queried then.

"Jim from IT at the hospital; he was with me yesterday," John answered. _Must tell Molly operation 'making him jealous' is a total failure; Jim doesn't even register on his radar. _"Tea?" he offered.

That apparently did not register on Sherlock's radar too, because next thing he said was, "Yesterday you said why."

John decided to bring him a cup anyway. He needed a few moments of tactical retreat if small talk was over. When Sherlock wordlessly accepted it, he had chosen his line. "Why to what?" Play idiot and gain time.

"I asked if you'd seen someone, and you didn't answer yes or no. You said why. Ergo you know something."

"Or I was just curious," John countered.

"You weren't. You were tense; still are in fact. You aren't Golem's accomplice. The evidence suggests that he was working alone,also he'd have profited from his help before if he had one. But you know something. And. I. Need. To. Know. Too!" Sherlock's voice raised progressively into a yell, and he emphasized the end by slamming both hands on the table and using his full height to loom over John.

John didn't flinch. "I'll have you know I'm not that easy to scare, or intimidate, or whatever you think you're doing. If you missed your prey you should reconsider your conclusions instead of harassing me. You might be wrong," he hissed. He felt mildly guilty, because Sherlock had been _right_, but he couldn't say the truth, could he? Golem wasn't a danger to anyone anymore, and that was all that mattered, right?

"What _else _do you think I've been doing since yesterday?" Sherlock bit back bluntly. "I'm _never _wrong. The only possible explanation is that I still lack relevant data. Data you hold. So _tell me_. It's an order."

"Am I supposed to be impressed? Cowed?" he said flatly. God Jim was right. This one was a jerk. An arrogant one. Never wrong? What the hell?

"Actually, I hoped to manipulate your subconscious into yielding what I need, but there is always something one misses. Right. Officer. You _give _orders, and you don't acknowledge me as your superior. Of course it wouldn't work," Sherlock admitted nonchalantly.

_'How did he know I was a soldier? Did he research me?' _John wondered. _Well, only a way to find out._

"What makes you think I've been in the army?"

"Oh, _please. _I'm neither blind nor an idiot. Regulation hair length, your whole posture, the tan – limited, not from sunbathing – you aren't only a soldier, you're just back from war. Afghanistan or Iraq? I'm not sure about that. Ex army doctor, to be precise, and back for good, not on leave. You were in the hospital area yesterday, and friendly with an employee, as you pointed out. You wouldn't meet Jim if you went to the hospital only as a patient yourself, though. He's obviously not a relative of yours – there isn't the slightest resemblance – or an old friend. He'd know you weren't at ease and not quite capable to pretend and step in to help you _before _you blundered, not after. Hence you've been discharged from the army, found a job at Bart's and met him recently. You don't work in the same department as he: there isn't even a pc here, there's no way you are a technological expert. So, a doctor. Invalided home, doctors on the battlefield are too precious to be easily discharged otherwise. Not your leg though, that's psychosomatic. That cane is not a fashion statement, you expected to need it, but yesterday it dangled from your hand and your gait was definitely springy. So don't lie to _me_."

Sherlock said all that almost in a breath, decidedly too quickly for John (for anyone, really) to put a word in edgewise. The general feeling coupled being under machine gun fire with being masterfully dissected, and while neither image was particularly delectable, John couldn't quell the surge of admiration. So he didn't even try.

"You're brilliant!" he exclaimed. He managed not to clap. That'd be ridiculous.

His sentence clearly took back the inquisitor before him, but that didn't make sense. He must have heard that all the time.

Apparently not, because Sherlock's reply was, "That's not what people normally say."

"What do they say?" John asked, honestly curious.

"Piss off," Sherlock admitted.

John started to giggle. He'd been tempted himself to say something similar, but that was _before _he realized he had a bloody genius in front of him. Sherlock giggled with him, uncontrollably, and oh hell, they'd become a weird sort of friends, hadn't they? At the very least, _he_ liked Sherlock.

The latter had sensed it, evidently, because when they calmed down, he said, "You aren't an accomplice, you aren't easy to scare...I don't know why you're keeping a secret, but come on, John. _Help me_."

Dyaus help him, John _wanted _to do so. Lying to Sherlock would have been useless anyhow. Worse, insulting. But he was in danger, so... "Let me see your phone and I'll tell you," he proposed.

Sherlock handed it over immediately, without commenting on the weirdness of the request. John checked the message folder – just this side of overflowing – even if he knew already that he wouldn't find Dyaus' number on it. You don't hand your life over so casually. He checked the contacts too – four, the man needed a social life badly – just because he could before returning it.

"I need you to keep an open mind," he warned, voice serious. Sherlock only snorted. "We met Golem. He attacked us. I killed him," John confessed bluntly.

"I said don't _lie_, John. When I couldn't find him, I went back and checked the most likely places he could have hidden his victim too, in case we had missed each other for only a few minutes – but enough for him to kill. I went in the building you were leaving from too. It would have been a suitable place to dump an eventual body. there was nothing there," the detective replied, clearly disappointed.

"I know. That's why I asked for an open mind," the doctor quipped with a smirk. "I'll be forthright, ok? The world is ending. Some people – among which Golem and I – were granted a very limited way to know the future. We're meant to find and kill each other until only one survives. For some reason, the dead bodies are absorbed by a temporary, little black hole and disappear. I guess we're not meant to get in trouble with the police, since the winner could stop the end of the world," he revealed.

"Do you really think I'd fall for such a poorly concocted story John? Do I look like I should belong in some random cult? Or are you part of one and they have washed away your last neuron in the short span of time you've been back already?" Sherlock inquired sharply. "I do hope in the army you had no time for this nonsense."

"I have evidence," John replied quickly. He opened his blog and showed it to the detective. "Look when it's been updated," he exhorted.

"I maintain you're hiding something, so it wasn't odd to suspect I'd notice and come to question you. That you guessed the hour...I suppose it's part chance, part whatever information about me you said you gleaned from your friend that could help you determine it," the sleuth objected. "You won't answer them?" he added, referring to the texts whose alerts had been quickly – _angrily –_ coming since John had confessed his murder. _Still hoping to discover something more?_

"I know what they say," the doctor shrugged. _Of course I do. Jim must have been updated of what's been happening and is worried. Well, Dyaus didn't say they had to keep this a secret from everyone. Just that it was in their best interest not to be discovered by the other players, but Sherlock doesn't play. _

"I thought myself crazy for the longest time – until this started, actually – so I understand that you don't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe myself. I've told you nothing but the truth, so you won't obtain other secrets from me. Feel free to come and see me from time to time. Try to surprise me: you'll see the predictions are true and perhaps you'll accept the rest is as well. With time. I have a feeling I'll enjoy seeing you until then," he proposed with a large smile.

Again, for a heartbeat – just a heartbeat – the detective looked almost startled. God he was lonely, wasn't he? If Molly liked him, why didn't she _do _something?

"Unlikely as it is, it could be an acceptable experiment. I have to get the truth out of you, after all, and not seeing you anymore won't be conducive to that," Sherlock stated.

"Yes would have been enough," John pointed out with a grin. "See you soon then?"

"You'll know, won't you?" the detective quipped.

"Naturally," he agreed. And with that John parted from the most peculiar man he was likely to ever meet. At least he thought so. And given what he was involved with, that was saying a lot.


	7. The art of balance, part a

_Disclaimer: nothing mine. Do I really need to say it each chapter?_

_A.N. Sorry for the long Hiatus. Summer and hot waves with hellish names (Charon, Styx) sent my brain in temporary meltdown ...and then I got ill. I only hope it will be better, but I'm juggling many projects now, so chapter 7 might be slowish too. Hopefully not like this. _

Chapter 6: The art of balance, part a

John resisted the temptation to read Jim's texts, even when Sherlock left. He resisted the urge to text or call back and apologize, too. He would see his ally tomorrow (indubitably) and justify himself. He had no need to appease the man now; he got overwhelmed by Jim often enough that it was high time to regain a bit of lost footing.

He knew all about preemptive damage control, though, so before coming in to work the next day he sent a text of his own. 'It's all fine. I'll explain. At lunch if you're Molly-free?' Better this than having Jim pop up on a whim while he was busy. The blog's predictions were weak against people suddenly changing idea, and Jim was the king of that. A ping came quickly announcing the reply. 'It's a da~te. JM' John couldn't let this pass. He wrote back, 'No. It really isn't.'

It worked, luckily. John could do his job undisturbed, and was able to put the inevitable confrontation awaiting him out of his mind. When lunch hour came, so did Jim, with a grin and a recommendation for this great place just around the corner. John went along. It was probably best to take the conversation there; they would surely be overheard by colleagues at the hospital canteen. And that prospect was not good or, at the very least, extremely awkward. Well, if the place were so near that chance would still be present, theoretically, but John trusted Jim would have thought of that.

It was a tiny place, but the sandwiches were really good, and their seats would let them see if any of their friends came in. Jim was even considerate enough to bring him here and wait for John to take a bite before starting to chew _him _out. Or perhaps he didn't want to be interrupted and John's mouth being full suited his purpose.

"What the hell did you think you were _doing_yesterday, John? Admitting the full truth? Are you mad?" he hissed, the absence of nickname another clear indicator of his ire.

"Look, it's really fine. The only reason we need it kept secret is because of the other players, right? Sherlock doesn't play. I tested him, and he gave me his phone without batting an eyelid. We know better than to do that," John said, in the placating voice which usually did wonders with upset children.

Jim was no child, sadly. "Your reasoning contains so many fallacies I'm wondering how you got your grade. That man doesn't play because he gave you his phone? When has it been outlawed to have more than one mobile phone? And when did Dyaus say each and every one of them would receive his messages and become pivotal to the game?" he asked pointedly.

"Oh," the doctor breathed, a bit embarrassed at his oversight. "Well, if I were outed to another player I'd receive the 'dead end' warning, wouldn't I? I didn't. So, there," he continued, unwilling to concede his utter idiocy.

"You should. But I'm wondering if Dyaus meant that literally or based that prediction on his knowledge of standard human behaviour," Jim stated, with a hand-waving that reminded his friend weirdly of hypnotists.

"Sorry, what?" was the most intelligent reply John could muster.

"The most peculiar characteristic of our blogs is their time constraint. They don't look very much into the future...which is sensible, since we can change that. With many players and a relatively short game, it's a safe bet to say that people would start planning for an attempt on one's life the moment they knew the target. And that could be enough to set the relative future in motion and warrant a warning. But you're different, Johnny," the IT expert expounded, fondness creeping into his voice towards the end.

"Why?"

"Don't get angry now, but you've been...deliciously naive. Full confession, really? You could just say 'Nice to meet you Mr. Cat, I'm Mouse'. _I _wouldn't outright plan to kill you. I'd plan to play with you, befriend you, have you eating from my hand...and _then _kill you. Eventually. When you outlived your entertainment value. That would not get you any dead end for a long time," Jim stated with a very predatory smile.

"Who's the one being stupid by revealing his cards now?" John joked, though his voice was a bit strained. He'd suspected as much...well, not exactly as much, but he'd known better than being totally at ease around Jim.

"I resent that. The mere fact I told you that should be enough evidence I don't mean to go through with it. I said _would_, John. Details matter. I don't want you to get along with someone else and possibly fall into a trap. Never doubt how precious you are to me, Johnny," the other replied, and John kind of toned out his protests of love because 'details matter' reminded him irresistibly of Sherlock.

"Yeah, well...better head back. I don't want Sarah to scold me because I took a lunch break too long," he said, trying to avoid Jim's devolving into his flirty, over-emotive persona. Thank God his friend agreed.

John was at the end of his shift, and preparing to go home a bit more carefully than usual (well, that was the blog's plus) when he received a text.

_John, don't. JM_

He ignored it. What was the bloody point of having a future blog if he didn't use it?

He walked home, and sure enough, halfway through he found him. The kid – around fourteen, redhead, lanky – was gasping loudly, swaying, his face swelling up. John knew anaphylactic shock symptoms when he saw them. It just happened that he was equipped to deal with it too. With a few reassuring words, he set to work. Concentrated oxygen first, colloidal solution after…He was about to inject adrenaline when he got tackled by what it's easy to recognize as bodyguards. "I'm a doctor!" he yelled "and he needs help!". It took a few seconds, but he was allowed to continue his job. When he was almost done, and ready to go home, when the irritation got the better of him. His Captain bearing came out, and he said sternly, "Next time you get assigned to guarding someone, you don't take your eyes off him, understood? _I _meant him no harm, but if there was time for him to get in a pinch and for me to start treating, you've definitely lost him too long!".

The bodyguards blinked, not expecting a lecture from the stranger.

"And if you want to get rid of them – very comprehensibly, mind – start knowing how to take care of yourself first," he told the youngster, who was by now well, if a bit shaken from the experience.

"Will do, sir," the boy replied earnestly. He didn't like to be leashed, but having his life saved and seeing his annoying 'nannies' verbally lashed made the sign of respect almost unconscious.

And if John had just saved some star of another's rebellious offspring and ended on the news for it he didn't care. Really. He was just happy that the blog allowed him to help someone who needed it.


End file.
